


Hands of Lust

by DoreyG



Category: The Restoration Series - Edward Marston
Genre: Denial of Feelings, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Mildly Dubious Consent, Religious Conflict, Sex Pollen, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 21:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: "Jonathan," Christopher mumbles, laying a hand to his forehead, "I don't feel very well."





	Hands of Lust

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a warning: This has sort of infidelity in it. I say sort of infidelity because Jonathan is definitely married while doing this... But also it's a sex pollen situation where he doesn't really have much control over the situation, and ALSO I prefer to think of it as hugely under-negotiated polyamory anyway.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

"Jonathan," Christopher mumbles, laying a hand to his forehead, "I don't feel very well."

He doesn't _look_ very well, truth be told. His dark hair, with those beautiful curls that he always wants to bury his fingers in, is sweaty and sticks to his head. He's a lot paler than usual, and his vivid eyes have gone wide and faintly glassy.

And the most worrying thing is, he's not the only one.

It was a perfectly ordinary night, on the trail of their latest case - a man's body found propped up against a tree trunk, purpling bruises around his wrist. They'd returned to the park to check the area, had seen a shape in the near distance and had chased after it when it turned and ran. They'd almost caught up too, before the figure had spun around and threw a strange powder into their eyes.

"Jonathan."

All perfectly ordinary, perfectly regular. Except it doesn't quite explain why Christopher is so pale now, why _he_ feels quite so shaky. Why, when he thinks of what happened in the park, he thinks not of the details but of the impressions. The curve of Christopher's smile as they walked along the path, the warmth of Christopher's hand on his arm when they'd spotted the figure, the sparkling look in his eyes as he'd started to run.

" _Jonathan_ ," Christopher repeats, softer this time, and gives a slightly sheepish smile when he raises himself from his trance to glance over, "I'm sorry, I just... I haven't felt this awful in _years_."

"You're not alone," he grumbles, voice unexpectedly ragged, and forces himself to stand a little straighter in the hope that that'll get rid of some of the strangeness, "is there anything I can do for you?"

The thing is that he's had these thoughts before, far too many times before. He can't seem to stop his eyes from lingering on the curve of Christopher's smile, the dark riot of his hair, the sheer beauty of his face when he gets truly passionate about something. But he's always been able to ignore it, to shove the sinful temptation away like a good Christian should.

But now...

"I should be asking you that. I'm the host in this-" Christopher says, looking smaller and smaller by the second. His eyes have grown even more dazed, a faint flush is rising on his pale skin as if he has some kind of fever, "I feel hot. Do you feel hot, Jonathan? I feel so _hot_."

He can't seem to push it away, no matter how hard he tries. He can't seem to _stop_ thinking of Christopher that way, can't seem to stop looking at the man and _wanting_ him more than he's ever wanted anything in his life.

"It's okay," he soothes, finds himself taking a step forwards. He panics for a second, digs his heels into the floor and tries to bring himself to just turn away and _leave_ this sinful situation, but then Christopher whines a little and he finds himself taking another step, "it's okay, Christopher. I'm here."

"I'm _boiling_ ," Christopher says plaintively, closing his eyes briefly and swaying on his feet. When he opens them again, they land right on him with a feverish intensity that he shudders at, "that's the first time that you've said my first name. You know that?"

He blinks, the memory of propriety pulling desperately at him. But then sweat drips into his eyes, and he finds himself stepping into Christopher's space without a single thought more, "Christopher."

Christopher _shudders_ , closes his eyes again and tilts his entire body that little bit closer to him.

"What do you need?" He asks, pitching his voice deliberately low. He's more hot than he's ever been, sweat pouring off him. He's suddenly aware that his cock is _pulsing_ between his thighs, rock hard in a way that it hasn't been since he was first married to Sarah.

Sarah... He should stop this now, step back and just run away. They haven't done anything, they haven't crossed any lines that can't be ignored. This might be a bit awkward the next time they see each other, yes, but he at least is very good at pretending. They can move past this, they can remain just friends. They _have_ to move past this, they _need_ to remain-

"You to touch me," Christopher interrupts his thought process in a low voice. And then actually _forces_ his eyes open, fixes them wide and stares straight into his face with a breathless desire that can't be mistaken for anything else, " _you_."

He needs no further encouragement.

Christopher's mouth is soft, and incredibly yielding. The man reacts just as enthusiastically as he always dreamed he would, melts beneath him with a desperation that sends a fresh wave of arousal surging through him. Their lips touch, and suddenly their bodies are pressed together at every possible point.

He can feel every inch of Christopher, as the man wraps around him like some vine, can feel the sheer heat of him radiating through his clothes. He groans, and surges into Christopher's embrace like he just can't help himself. Before he knows it the man's back is hitting the wall behind him, and there's nowhere else to go.

Christopher makes a noise of breathless pleasure into his mouth, one that makes his cock almost _painful_ in his smallclothes, and takes the hint as well as he ever does. Hitches himself up, using the leverage of the wall, and wraps his long legs firmly around his hips. He's not sure that he's kissed anybody, even _Sarah_ , as desperate for his touch as this before - it seems almost as if Christopher is trying to choke him with his tongue.

His knees buckle a little, helpless under the onslaught of sensation, but Christopher just slides right down with him. Presses their hips firmly together, tilts his head back against the wall, smirks a touch dazedly and- _Christ_.

The slide of cock against cock is so good, that a small part of him wonders wildly why the church has deemed something so divine sinful. Christopher leans forwards to kiss him again, laughs into his mouth and keeps rocking his hips. He endeavours to take the hint just as well, and thrusts back against the man as firmly as he can.

They remain up against the wall for a long few minutes, rocking together like that. When he thought about this before, when he wistfully pictured it late at night before brutally cutting himself off, he imagined their first time as somewhat more romantic than this. Flowers, a bed, declarations of intent that were both clear and tender.

He has to admit, though. This rougher kind of love _certainly_ has its appeal.

He keeps kissing Christopher, passionate and _hungry_ , until the man unwinds his arms from where they were wrapped around his neck and shoves gently at his shoulders. He obeys immediately, careful even when driven out of his mind with lust, and draws back to look Christopher right in the eyes with an almost painful kind of hope.

"More." Christopher, who looks _wrecked_. Christopher, who is staring at him like this is the best thing that's happened in his entire life, "more more _more_."

"I heard you the first time," he says hoarsely, and _laughs_ despite himself. He can't seem to stop beaming, a giddy happiness flowing through him like light. He spins them around, shoving his hands more firmly under Christopher's arse, and carries them across to the kitchen table without too much effort.

He's never particularly considered his strength a virtue, it was just the natural result of his size and vocation, but he starts to reconsider at Christopher's reaction. The man stills, shocked, in his arms as he's carried over. But when he lays him down on the table he comes alive again, drags him back into an even more passionate kiss with an eagerness that takes his breath away.

He can feel the movement of Christopher's cock even through their clothes, the steady rise of it tenting his breeches. It's an incredibly erotic motion, and as Christopher digs his nails into his shoulder blades he can't resist teasingly arching his back to rub up against it again.

Christopher, if possible, goes even more frenzied than before. Gasps into his mouth, and then whines, and then clutches at the fabric over his shoulderblades hard enough that a dazed part of him wonders if it'll rip. He's not sure that he's ever been as aroused as this, he feels like he's about to burst out of his skin with the force of his own longing.

They rock together like they fit together, like they were made perfectly for each other in every possible way. He doesn't know why they haven't done this before now, why they haven't acted on this steadily building fire between them. He doesn't know why he didn't just drag Christopher into a side alley the moment he saw him, or why Christopher didn't kiss him the second after they solved their first case, or why they didn't just come together every single time their eyes met and heat sparked between them. They should've done.

Jesus, they should've done.

Christopher is growing impatient again, he can feel it thrumming through the man's body beneath him. It's amusing and hot all at the same time. Even when not dazed by whatever this is - and his brain, the small bit of logic that remains, flinches at the thought - the man has never been good at holding himself back, at not haring off after every single thought...

Christopher takes advantage of his fond distraction, with a wry smirk that he can't help but adore. Before he knows it he's being pushed back off the man's body, blinking all the way, and Christopher is sitting up and yanking at the fastenings of his coat. 

He hardly has a problem with that, even if it does mean that he has to stop touching for a regrettable few moments. He rocks back a little on his knees, setting his feet fully on the floor again, and leans in to help.

Christopher's clothes are of a finer quality than his, always have been. On the plus side, that also means that they're a _lot_ easier to get off. The fastenings on his coat come easily loose, and the fabric only briefly catches on Christopher's shirt as he yanks it off. His waistcoat is a little more difficult, with its absurdly tiny buttons, but that too takes just a few tugs before it's loose and tossed to the floor.

He reaches for Christopher's cravat with gentle fingers, unties it tenderly and slides it from around his neck. They stare at each other as he does so, oddly intimate. He can't resist leaning in briefly, and pressing a worshipful kiss to the side of the man's neck.

He feels the movement of Christopher's gasp beneath his lips, and then the man is grabbing his hand and shoving it firmly between his legs. His fingers stutter over the bulge of Christopher's cock for a moment, learning the shape of it, and then he remembers what he's supposed to be doing and reaches for the fastenings instead. They're easy enough to undo, and then he can yank the breeches down Christopher's thighs and yank his shirt up over his head in short order.

Christopher pops up again, ruffled and eager, and wastes no time going for the fastenings of his own rougher clothes. He's obviously excited, the _sight_ of his hard cock bobbing up is something that he's never going to forget, but even now seems to remember his inherent gentleness. His battered, shorter coat is dealt with quickly but gently. He breeches are slid instead of yanked, and even his shirt is carefully lifted instead of ripped. He stumbles a little as he hops to remove his shoes and stockings, but otherwise things are so close to romantic that he can hardly believe it.

And then... They're both naked.

A part of him realizes that there's something wrong about this, that lingering logical part of his brain is screaming again, but somehow he can't bring himself to heed it all that much. Christopher is _gorgeous_ like this, spread out before him. He skin is creamy pale all over, he's almost hairless except a small stretch of black trailing from his navel to his cock and his nipples are interestingly red. He wants to touch everywhere, he wants to _taste_ everywhere and raise Christopher to heaven with the worship of his mouth.

By the way that Christopher is looking at him, a giddy sheen to his eyes, he feels much the same way. He pushes up off the table a little further, rests one gentle hand on his chest and gives him the most genuine smile that he's ever seen, "I wanted this."

"You're beautiful," he says, unable to think of any words more honest than that, and takes Christopher's mouth again. Presses him back to the table has hard as he dares.

He's come close to doing this once or twice before, awkward fumblings before he met Sarah and settled fully into his faith, but he's never gone this far. He's unable to worry about that too much, he's pretty sure that instinct is going to take care of many things. There's a small tray of butter, teetering near the edge of the table to their sides. He rescues it by the skin of his teeth, sets in by Christopher's hip and thoroughly coats his fingers in it.

Christopher stiffens when he presses the first slick finger in. But then, just as he's starting to worry, gives a sobbing moan and loosens up all at once. The man goes absolutely boneless underneath him, melting into his touch like he trusts him completely.

The second finger goes in easier, and he presses an encouraging kiss against Christopher's lips as the sobbing moan is repeated. The feeling of tightness around him is intense, a blessing that he never expected. He feels the shudder of muscle around him, feels the heat of Christopher's body, and feels closer to god than he ever has before.

He's not quite sure how much preparation is required, he thinks that it generally requires a little more, but Christopher is scratching impatiently at his shoulders and he decides that _surely_ it can do no harm. He draws his fingers back slowly, braces his hand on the table and uses his other to slick up his painfully hard cock.

Their eyes meet, as he lines himself up with Christopher's entrance. The man looks a little dazed, a little less flushed than earlier, but when their gazes connect the brightest smile that he's ever seen bursts across his face. He opens his legs a little further, arches his hips up from the table encouragingly.

They both want this. They've both always wanted this, truth be told.

He takes the first thrust in slowly, carefully despite the force of his lust screaming at him. Christopher tenses beneath him, briefly gritting his teeth at the force of the thrust, and he leans forwards to kiss the man's cheek. Whispers soothing endearments into his ear, as he ever so slowly seats himself fully.

He starts off slow and steady, building a rhythm. Christopher's body is tight around him, incredibly tight, and he wants to appreciate every single part of this as much as possible. He doesn't want to hurt either of them, have this be over in a flash. He leans forwards on his arms, presses a kiss against Christopher's cheek and immerses himself in the moment.

Christopher protests his gentleness, more certainly by the moment as he gets used to the penetration. He starts moving his hips in turn, trying to urge him on to a faster pace. He arches his back appealingly, pressing his leaking cock up against his stomach. He keeps making _noises_ , soft groans and pleading moans and downright unfair whimpers all building to a glorious crescendo.

It's wonderful.

He grits his teeth, as an opportune roll of Christopher's hips sends pleasure flaring through him, and decides that he might as well pick up the pace a little. He moves his hips a little faster, getting deep enough that he feels Christopher's arse brush against his balls. He grinds his stomach deliberately down against Christopher's cock, feels it swell even further against him. He sets his teeth against Christopher's shoulder, and bites down until he wins a low wail for his troubles.

Christopher _definitely_ likes that. He lets out a high pitched, incredibly sweet moan and _slams_ their hips together. His hands, previously rested against his back, move up to his shoulders again and clutch there. He shifts his legs until they're wrapped around his back, heels digging in just above his arse so he has better leverage. He turns his head, careful not to dislodge the teeth from his shoulder, and starts peppering the side of his face with adoring kisses.

It's incredible.

The sensation of lust keeps surging within him, driving all other consideration aware. He's dimly aware that his back is aching, that his arms are growing a little tired, that something is _wrong_ here... But he can't bring himself to care. He can only push Christopher hard into the table, spreading him out even further. Can only press a breathless kiss to the deep mark of a bite wound on Christopher's shoulder, and then transfer his teeth to his neck. Can only keep going and going, drawn on by a sharp pleasure so sweet that it touches the divine.

Christopher is _keening_ beneath him, at the force of his thrusts. He seems undone, absolutely desperate and raw in a way that he's never wanted to see before but now wants to see every single moment for the rest of his life. His nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that he wouldn't be surprised if they were drawing blood. His throat shudders under his teeth, downright vibrating with the volume of his moans. His cock is damp against his belly, leaving a trail of precome that only increases his own burning sense of lust.

It's _right_.

And his thrusts grow uneven, desperate. His arms dip, until his chest is pressed up against his Christopher's chest. His mouth leaves Christopher's neck almost instinctively, and their lips meet instead.

And Christopher writhes beneath him, shuddering apart underneath his touch. Christopher digs his nails harder into his shoulders, to the point where he feels the dampness of blood. Christopher arches up into his kiss, sobbing desperately.

_It's_ -

He's had good orgasms before of course, he and Sarah always found an almost indecent level of pleasure in each other before the risk of more pregnancies became too great, but the intensity of this one is still enough to shock him. He gasps into Christopher's mouth, slams his fist against the table as he comes deep inside the man. Christopher gives a high whine as he does so, thrusts up against his stomach one last time and coats it in sticky strips of white.

He remains sprawled on top of, inside of, Christopher for a long few moments. Keeps their mouths together in the aftermath, gentler now as reality slowly starts to seep back in.

The air is cool against his naked back, his head aches with a viciousness that he's never experienced before and the knowledge of what they've just done is starting to sink through him like a stone. He can feel Christopher's body beneath him, can feel the sweat and come sticky between them, can feel the slow tensing of muscles as they both slowly become aware of their position. In a moment, one of them is going to have to do something. In a moment either he's going to have to pull out or Christopher is going to shove him off and they're going to have to _deal_ with this.

...And so, he reasons guiltily, they might as well appreciate this while they can. He opens his mouth against Christopher's again, gently. And is only mildly surprised when, after a moment, Christopher sighs softly and responds.


End file.
